Don't Make Me, John
by Gatergirl79
Summary: Follow up to 'You'll Have To Do Better Than That' - Sherlock and John are on the Baskerville case while dealing with the aftermath of Sherlock's...new found persuasive abilities. Slash - WARNING: Spoiler for Season Two.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ok people, ask and thou shall receive. Here you go the much requested follow up to You'll Have To Do Better Than That. I'm not sure if it's going to be any good. It's kinda hard building a story around one moment that just popped into my head while watching the episode, though luckily a couple of other moments appeared in the back of my brain while re-watching Hounds of Baskerville. (oh, how hard is the life of a fan fiction writer, having to watch and re-watch episodes just so you get it right. *sigh*) I wasn't at all sure I could pull off a sequel if I'm honest, but I gave it my best, so please be gentle if it doesn't meet expectations. **

**Anyway, this picks up just after the events of the previous One-Shot. For those who haven't read it, you might want to do so before reading this. Though I guess it's not all that necessary as the events in that story are reviewed in this one.**

**WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode Hounds of Baskerville, and I have had to borrow a few lines from the actually episode. (If you've seen the episode, you'll know which ones. If you haven't seen the episode, should you really be reading this? Rofl. - but so you know, anything involving romance, kissing and other such stuff is all mine own work.)**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE<strong>

He hated the arrogant sod. Two hours ago his infuriating bastard of a flatmate had kissed and groped him rather unceremoniously in the living room chair, in order to get him to relinquish the secret stash of cigarettes. If that wasn't bad enough he'd been smugly proud of himself ever since. John could see it in his face.

Sherlock may be able to deduce what someone's great grandfather did for a living just by looking at your left thumb, but John could deduce when Sherlock _bloody _Holmes was being a smug git. - Probably because he was always a smug git.

And why was the great detective so cheerfully proud of himself? Because Dr. John Watson's body was frustrated and horny and apparently did give a shit where the attention was coming from. He knew who to blame of course, not only for the dry spell in his sex life but for Sherlock sudden interest in seduction over deduction. It was her fault. The woman. Irene Adler.

The six months of screwing with Sherlock's head had left both the detective and his flatmate/colleague on the verge of insanity. John had lost yet another girlfriend to his friendship with Sherlock and hadn't been able for find another. - If he didn't know better he'd say Janette had put the word out. Which of course was ridiculous. - Sherlock himself, had for months been giving off an uncomfortable air of cheerful excitement, secrecy and morbid depression. Which had thankfully come to an end with Ms Adler's, more permanent death. Ever since Sherlock had been back to his old self, well except for his renewed addiction to nicotine. - Thank you very much Mycroft Holmes - Which they were in the process of weaning him off of. That's what had lead to the kiss/gropefest that morning.

Sherlock had been in desperate need of stimulation after a tedious case involving harpooning a dead pig. - Don't ask. - anyway, he'd demand that John hand over the cigarettes, but they'd already agreed to go cold turkey after weeks of failed attempts using patches, sprays and gum. But Sherlock was having a bad day and was feeling desperate. So desperate that he'd resorting to seduction.

To say that John had been surprised would be an understatement, as would saying he'd been angry, embarrassed and far too turned on for his own good. He had thanked heaven a thousand times since for sending them an interruption in the form of Henry Knight. Because John feared just how far the whole situation would have went.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sadly the arrival of young Mr. Knight hadn't distracted him has much as he'd liked. While they'd sat listening and questioning Henry about his father's death twenty years ago, John's mind couldn't quite shift the memory of Sherlock's mouth and hand on him. What was even more disturbing was the fact that suddenly John was checking Sherlock out.

After giving Henry his usual 'of-course-I'm-showing-off-I'm-a-show-off-that's-what-we-do' deduction display, he'd ordered the young man to light his roll-up, which Henry gladly done, before Sherlock processed to lean over the young man and inhale the cigarette smoke like he was some kind of vacuum-cleaner.

It was at this point John, much to his own disgust, anger and embarrassment, found his gaze setting of the revealed curve of Sherlock's arse. - Not once, but twice. At if that hadn't been enough, he'd felt that familiar stirring in his stomach that was usually reserved for women.

It hadn't ended there of course. After forcing his mind back to the case at hand he'd thought it he was on the road to recovery. Sherlock was back on form as he brushed aside the younger man's fears as if they were nothing, telling him it was a childhood trauma and that he should go back to Devon, getting up from his seat and marching off into the kitchen.

He didn't get that far. Henry turned around and pleaded with him. Announcing that he'd seen a '_Gigantic Hound'_. For some reason, John still didn't understand, this peaked Sherlock's interest. After making Henry repeat himself word for word, he pulled that 'now-that-interesting' look and started walking around the room. His long, slim, elegant, beautiful finger pressed in prayer to his full elegant beautiful lip. - _Damn it, stop that. _

"Sorry, what? A minute ago footprints were boring, now their promising?" John had asked with confusion.

"This has nothing to do with footprints, as ever John, you weren't listening. - Baskerville, ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely, it's very hush, hush." John had replied, completely ignoring the slight insult Sherlock though his way. After all, it wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last - and he'd said far worse.

"Sounds like a good place to start." Sherlock announced.

"You'll come down then." Henry said with renewed hope.

"No I can't leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don't worry, I'm putting my best man onto it…." Sherlock smirked, slapping John on the shoulder. "…can always rely on John to send me all the relevant data as he never understands a word of it himself."

"What are you talking about your busy, you don't have a case. A minute ago you were complaining…."

"Bluebell John. I've got Bluebell. The vanishing glow in the dark rabbit." Sherlock announced, bouncing on his toes. "NATO's in uproar." he added turning to Henry.

"So your not coming." Henry looked truly confused.

Sherlock shook his head, pouting at John.

John glared at his flatmate. _Bloody Holmes_. He was being a prat, just for the sake of it. John knew it. He didn't give a toss about the vanishing rabbit and he was very interested in the Hound of Baskerville, he was just winding John up. Pushing his buttons. John had the slight suspicion he knew what he was after. The damn cigarettes.

The detective and the doctor met gazes. Sherlock challenging him. It was clear in his eyes that he'd actually do it. He'd send John on his own all the way to Devon, just to spit him and all because he won't hand over the fags.

But there was something else in Sherlock's pale blue gaze. It was that look again. The look he'd given him not thirty minutes ago before… John sucked in a deep breath and leapt to his feet. The sod wasn't going to pull that trick again, not with a client in the room. Not unless he wanted a broken nose.

"Ok." He straighten his back, cleared his throat and walked over to the mantle piece to retrieve the secret stash from underneath the skull. Turning back to throw them to Sherlock, who caught them in both hands, only to throw them away with a grin.

"I don't need those anymore. I'm going to Dartmoor." Then turned to leave. "You go on ahead Henry, we'll follow on later."

"Huh, s-so y-you are coming?" Henry stuttered confused.

Sherlock returned with that swagger he gets when he's excited about a case. "A twenty year old murder, a monstrous hound…" he looked between Henry and John. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Now here they were on the way to Dartmoor. The pair sat in silence as they had been from leaving Baker Street. John trying his hardest not to look at Sherlock, deciding to busy himself with his notebook. Already beginning to write up the case for later. Sherlock as usual was typing away on his mobile. Sending texts, browsing the internet for data. Though sometimes John suspected he was secretly playing some game or other, his concentration being so focused that John had to repeat himself if he asked a question.

They reached Dartmoor before early afternoon and went in search of their hire car. John had called ahead for reserve one. After filling in the paper work and collection the keys the pair headed out to the lot where a land-rover was waiting patiently for them.

"I'll drive." Sherlock announced, holding out his hands for the keys.

John stopped and looked at him. "What?"

"I'll drive. Keys." he snapped his fingers.

John clenched his jaw and glared at the taller man with irritation. "Sherlock, you can't drive."

The detective huffed impatiently. "Of course I can drive."

John eyed him wearily. "Really? - Show me your licence."

"I don't have one."

"Then your not driving." John told him sternly, continuing on to the vehicle.

"John. Give me the keys." Sherlock demanded. "A licence is not necessary. I am fully educated in the ways and means of driving. I've read up on the subject countless times. I know how a car works. Just because I have not wasted either my precious time or money gaining a little piece of plastic that some bureaucrat thinks I need to prove this skill does not mean I am incapable of doing it."

John turned to stare at his friend for a long moment. Leave it to Sherlock to state his case in a way that makes it bloody hard to argue with. "Sherlock. It's the law."

Sherlock scoffed. His gaze narrowing as he stepped closer to John. "I am perfectly capable of driving John and we are unlikely to be pulled over and questioned. So if you please." he held out his hand.

"I said no Sherlock. I don't give a shit if you think you can drive or not, or if you think having a licence is pointless. I'm not putting my life on the line because you have a whim to put your research into practice."

Sherlock observed his friends. "That's all you ever do John." he smirked. "Whenever you assist me on a case, your always putting your life on the line. - Why is this any different?"

John hated him. He really, _really _hated him. "It just is." John snapped.

Sherlock's features softened. - Dangerously. His gaze become fixed on John in an unnervingly familiar way. He took a step forward, just a step and lowered the tone of his voice. "John." he purred. "Don't make me…."

The keys were thrown into Sherlock's waiting hands. John turning around, his heart pounding in his chest and a heat spreading from his toes to his cheeks. He rushed to the land-rover and climbed into the passengers seat, all the while repeating to himself. _Bastard. Bastard. Bastard_.

Sherlock got behind the wheel with a bright satisfied grin on his well defined features and the sight infuriated John. Sherlock started the engine, shifted the gears and pushed down on the accelerator, all the while being aware of John holding him breath.

"Calm down John. This is as easy as solving the Cabbie case." Sherlock announced as the car moved forward.

"And how long did it take you to figure that one out? - How yea…"

"Shut up John." Sherlock snapped.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

The journey to the hotel was interrupted by Sherlock wanting to check out the landscape. Not because he wanted to sight see or take in the dark beauty of the Moor, but so as to gather data on the area. So they'd pulled the land-rover over and taken a walk over the large expanse of Devon countryside.

John had to admit, though not to Sherlock, that the detective had been rightly confident in his ability to drive. They hadn't had any major accidence. The closest they'd come was when a hare had darted out in front of them, which Sherlock had missed by a breath. Sherlock hadn't had the car swaying all over the road, it hadn't stalled or kangarooed its way along the long stretch of tarmac. All in all, Sherlock Holmes drove the same way he did everything. - Perfectly.

They'd driven in silence, - at least until Sherlock had announced his plans to gather data. - and it had given John time to think. Something he wasn't used to doing. That was to say, he wasn't used to think about Sherlock, more pacifically Sherlock kissing him.

Sherlock apparent new pursuit of trying to persuade, though John would probably prefer the term black-mail, him into doing whatever the detective wanted by means of threatening to kiss him, was already beginning to worry him. Sherlock was already hard enough to live with, they were already surrounded by speculation about their relationship, John was already having trouble convincing women that he wasn't gay, without having to worry over whether or not Sherlock was going to try and _persuade _him again.

And what if the shit decided to do it in public? A cold sweat spread across John flesh and he shivered. He'd never get another girlfriend is Sherlock started kissing him in public…Not that he wanted him to kiss him in private, no way, he wasn't gay - despite what everyone, his body and the woman thought.

He glanced over at Sherlock and found him concentrating wholeheartedly on the road in front of him. John could tell his mind was working. He had that look on his face, his lips pressed together. The one that had kissed him a few hours ago. The ones he'd kissed back.

John shook his head to dislodge that thought. What the hell was happening to him. He needed get laid, that much was sure, but until then he would focus his mind of the case, after all that's what he was there for. The official blogger of Sherlock Holmes. _The case not the kiss_. He told himself over and over.

Sadly, that was easier thought than done.

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><p><strong>AN: There you go ****J**** hope it met with your approval. I have tried my hardest to keep the same feeling as the One-Shot pilot. **

**Notes about the chapter:**

**1) Obviously certain things are taken from the actual episode. - As I said, you should know which, but if you don't. The conversation between Sherlock. John and Henry are that's to the episode. I merely added the thoughts behind them. **

**2) The Sherlock driving scene comes from well, honest I have to thank Mark Gatiss for inspiring that. While I was listening to the season one commentary Mark mention that if Sherlock could drive, which he doubt (yet strangely made him do so in the episode) he'd be able to do just because of the way he is. It would be just another of those things Sherlock Holmes can just do. And bam, inspiration. **

**So, let me know what you think, I would really love you to. **

**Thanks for reading. Next chapter ASAP. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the shortness of the chapters. **

**WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode Hounds of Baskerville, and I have had to borrow a few lines from the actually episode. (If you've seen the episode, you'll know which ones. If you haven't seen the episode, should you really be reading this? Rofl. - but so you know, anything involving romance, kissing and other such stuff is all mine own work.)**

**Enjoy :)**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO<strong>

The pair pulled into the hotel in Grimpon Village an hour later. "See John. Still in one piece."

John gave a sigh. "Alright, so you got us here without causing a major accident, you still need a licence Sherlock."

"Boring." the detective said opening the door and climbed out.

The pair headed towards the hotel, past a group of tourist being given the big sell by a young man. "Don't be strangers. - And remember, stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives."

John watched Sherlock pull up the collar of his coat.

"Cold." Sherlock announce, causing John to smirk as they entered the small rural pub/hotel.

While John headed to the desk to get their rooms sorted. Sherlock took a stroll around the place. Observing, deducing. John watched him from the bar, his gaze following him around trying to see what Sherlock saw, but all he saw were people where Sherlock saw lives and histories. He watched the way Sherlock walked, his hands in his pockets, the collar of his long over-coat still pulled up against his slender swan-like neck.

"Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys." Said the cheerful owner, who'd introduced himself as Gary, as he handed John the key to their room.

"That's fine…" John said casually, before he suddenly realised what the man had said. "…we're not…" he looked at the expecting look on the man's face, and figure why bother. He was slowly getting tired of having to defend his '_platonic' _relationship with Sherlock. And considering the owner was clearly gay himself, he didn't want to offend. So he took the keys and smiled. "…There you go." he handed over the money for the drink he'd ordered while waiting on the room.

"Oh ta, I'll just get your change." Gary smiled before walking away.

"Ta." John turned his head ans noticed a piece of paper. He couldn't say why he took it, only that something in his head said it might be important.

"There you go." Gary smiled, as John shoved the paper into his pocket while taking the change with his free hand.

"I couldn't help noticing, on the map of the moor, a skull and cross bones?"

"Oh that." Gary nodded, walking away to tend to a customer.

John watched him, waiting for an explanation, when it looked like Gary wasn't going to say anything he pressed on. "Pirates?"

"Ah no, no." Gary smiled with a sigh. "The great Grimpon mine field, they call it. It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore."

Sherlock strolled around the restaurant/bar, listening to the conversation John was having with the owner, all the while searching. He couldn't see anything connected to their case. His attention was capture by John.

"Ever seen it? The hound?"

"Me, no. - Fletcher has…" the owner said, pointing to the young man they'd passed on their way in. "He runs the walks, the monster walks for the tourists, ya know."

Sherlock turned to glance at the young man as he spoke on his phone. He was already leaving the hotel with no interest in the rest of John's conversation.

"That's handy, for trade." John continued, watching Sherlock walk out, leaving him alone to gather more information from Gary.

"I was just saying, we've been rushed off our feet Billy." Gary said as another shorter man, dressed as a chef appeared behind the bar.

"Yeah, lots of monster hunters…" he replied softly. "…doesn't take much these days. One mention on twitter and humph. - We're out of WKD…" he announced to Gary, before continuing. "…what with the monster and the ruddy prison, I don't know how we sleep nights." he shrugged.

"Like a baby." Gary announced over Billy's s shoulder as he passed.

John smiled with a little embracement at the couple, dropping his gaze.

"He's a snorer" Billy informed John, before Gary could hush him. "Is your's a snorer?" Billy asked, nodding towards the door and Sherlock.

John's head shot up. "Got any crisp?" he asked in a desperate attempt to ignore the question. He knew if he answered it would only confirm what they already suspected. The truth was Sherlock did snore, when he slept at all and it wasn't that bad a snore, it was kind of cute, almost silent, like a child's. Of course Sherlock would deny it if you asked.

Knowing this meant nothing. They shared an house, of course he'd know if his flatmate snored, but when every little thing John and Sherlock did was pulled to pieces and examined by those around him, John had learnt quickly not to mention anything that could be misconstrued.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock was already speaking to Fletcher when he exited the Cross Keys, drink in hand. He was told on arrival at the table that the bet was off. He had no idea what Sherlock was talking about but played along anyway. Then listened with great interest as the young man told them about Dewer's Hollow and the hound. About his army friend who'd seen unspeakable things.

John had done all this while watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, he could see him taking in every detail, analysing it for flaws and holes. Trying to deduce what was fact and what was fiction. John saw the scepticism in his eyes as he listened, and it had remained, scoffing at everything the man said. - Until Fletcher revealed his proof. Pulling out of his bag a cast of a giant paw print, and in that second Sherlock was hooked.

"We did say fifty." John said trying not to laugh. "Hmm, ta." he smirking as Sherlock was forced to pull the note out of his wallet and hand it over, before getting up from his seat and walking away.

John followed after him. "Didn't expect that, did you Sherlock?" he snorted. "Think it's real?"

"Yes." Sherlock snapped, not amused. He paused at the boot of the car.

"So there is a hound."

Sherlock turned to glare at him with that 'don't-be-a-moron' look. "I'll have my money back." he held out his hand.

"Huh, I don't think so. A bets a bet." John smirked.

"It wasn't a real bet John, I just had to get Fletcher to talk and he clearly has a gambling addiction."

John shrugged as he moved past him to open the boot and retrieve their bags.

"Your not going to give me back my money?"

"Nope." John lifted his bag out of the boot.

"John." Sherlock's voice dropped and John felt a shiver rush down his spine, he turned to meet the consulting detective's gaze. "John." the hand stretched out further in front of him.

"No way, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a step closer and John was suddenly aware of the fact that they were stood in the car park. His gaze wanted to see if they were being watched but he couldn't pull his eyes away from Sherlock's full lips. He swallowed hard.

"Don't even think about it Sherlock." he said in a low force, that was far too husky for his own liking.

"Think about what?" he smirked feigning innocence.

"You know damn well what Sherlock. - I warned you this morning, you kiss me again you'll need an ambulance."

The pair stared at each other in challenge. Neither giving ground. John's shoulders were pulled back in a military stance, while Sherlock towered over him with a gleam that was _not _causing John's blood to rush though his veins.

"We need to investigate Baskerville, then go and see Henry." Sherlock finally stated.

"Fine…" John exhaled a breathe he hadn't know he'd been holding. "…But first I'm taking my bag to our room."

"Fine." Sherlock huffed, taking his own bag and following after his flatmate with a smug grin smeared across his face. _So easy_. He laughed to himself.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

The search of Baskerville had gone better than John had hoped. He'd been worried for a while there. So sure that using Mycroft's ID to gain entrance to the site wasn't going to work. After all, Sherlock and Mycroft looked similar but not enough alike to fool anyone. - Except the British Army it seemed. He wondered if the security guards were blind or just stupid. He'd have pulled them up on report if he'd still been in a position to do so.

They'd driven into Baskerville, parked up and walked straight towards the main building, all the while John was convince they were going to get caught. When a jeep pulled to a stop and a young Corporal jumped out he'd thought that was it. Then Sherlock had started throwing his weight around and John had to admit he was impressed. - more than impressed.

John had had to join in the charade, thankful he'd had the forethought to bring his military ID with him. When he'd given the order to take them on a tour of the base, he'd gained a slight brief smile of Sherlock.

"Nice touch." Sherlock said as they followed Corporal Lyons down the corridor

"I haven't pulled rank in ages."

"Enjoy it?"

"Oh yeah."

They were shown into the labs. John wasn't all that surprised to see the cages of animals. Though Sherlock being startled by a screaming monkey was slightly amusing. Sherlock did his thing, asking questions, filling his head with data as they walked. John asked a few questions himself, out of curiosity.

John had been surprise when they'd walked into one of the lab's and Sherlock got rather mouthy with one of the doctors. It wasn't completely out of character for Sherlock, after all he was rather rude and forward to everybody… including John, but there was something about his manner that was different, and he had that 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' look. That was when he reached into his coat and pulled out his notebook, scribbling something on it and showing it to the female scientist, who looked both surprised and horrified in equal measure.

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Dr. Stapleton?"

"The rabbit?" John asked confused for a few moments. "The rabbit?"

Then they'd left, rushing through the building while Sherlock received texts from his probably irritated and suspicious brother.

Of course as with everything that involve Sherlock Holmes it hadn't been that simple. Getting out became more difficult than getting in as the alarms went off and they were stopped by Major Barrymore. If it hadn't have been for a Dr. Frankland, John hated to think what would have happened.

The doctor accompanied John and Sherlock out of the building after telling the Major a whopper of a lie. Outside he'd revealed them he knew exactly who they were and that he was a fan. Apparently he was never off Sherlock's website.

"Thought you'd be wearing the hat though. - Hardly recognised him without the hat."

Which had irritated Sherlock much to John's pleasure. He knew his friend hated that hat, but it was his own fault, which John had repeatedly told him.

He walked with them, giving his praise of the blog. Sherlock stopped his rambling to ask about Henry. They were told how Dr. Frankland had been friends with Henry's father and then he'd given them his cell number in case they needed to contact him. Then he'd left to go back to work, while Sherlock and John headed back to their vehicle.

"So?" John asked as they walked.

"So?"

"What was all that about the rabbit?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he just pulled up his collar and headed for the drivers seat.

John scoffed. "Oh please, can we not do this, this time."

"Do what?" Sherlock frowned across the car.

"You being all mysterious….with your…cheekbones and….turning your coat collar up so you look cool."

"I don't do that." Sherlock insisted.

"Yeah ya do." John climbed into the passengers seat, hiding a smirk.

As they headed to Henry's, Sherlock looked over at John. "Do I?"

"Do you want?"

"Look cool?" Sherlock frowned. He'd never been thought of as cool in his life.

John had to laugh. _Did he look cool? Cool? _- he looked so much more than cool. What with the black hair, translucent skin, pale blue eyes with a flicker of brown in them. The cheekbones and the slim yet mescaline physic, of course he was bloody cool. But those weren't the only things that he had, what was it Adler had said… "Brainy is the new sexy." - Not that John Watson considered Sherlock sexy. His gaze flickered over to Sherlock for a brief second, before turning to gaze out of the window. But a second was all his brain had needed to pull up the memories of that morning.

He could feel his body getting uncomfortable in the seat, he could feel Sherlock's gaze on him in a knowing way. He had to distract himself so decided to focus on the case. Turning to Sherlock to ask about the mysterious vanishing rabbit.

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><p><strong>AN: How's it going do you think? Please let me know. :)**

**Notes about the chapter:**

**1) Obviously certain things are taken from the actual episode. - As I said, you should know which, but if you don't. The conversation between John, Billy and Gary. As well as the one between Sherlock, John and Fletcher were all borrowed from the episode. I merely added the thoughts and feelings behind them. **

**2) I love the John/Sherlock coat and cheekbones moment. Makes me giggle every time, so I had to put it in. - I also love the rabbit moment at the beginning of the episode "glows in the dark, like a fairy, according to Kristy." Laugh every time. **

**So, Thanks to all of you for reading, and to those who have reviewed and faved (if you have) **

**Next chapter ASAP. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Again sorry about the shortness of the chapter.**

**WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode Hounds of Baskerville, and I have had to borrow a few lines from the actually episode. (If you've seen the episode, you'll know which ones. If you haven't seen the episode, should you really be reading this? Rofl. - but so you know, anything involving romance, kissing and other such stuff is all mine own work.)**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE<strong>

The rest of the afternoon and early evening was spent with Henry. They'd arrived at his very expensive home where they'd had tea and talked about the case, before Sherlock revealed his grand plan.

"We take you back out onto the moor… and see if anything attack you." he said with confidence.

John had been horrified that the man would suggest such a thing but after a rather one sided argument they'd found themselves hiking out onto the moor in the fading dark in search of the giant hound.

John had to admit it was one of Sherlock's worst plan ever. Especially when they'd found themselves separated. When John had finally found his way back to Sherlock and Henry, the young man was distraught and Sherlock was acting, oddly. John had taken Henry home while Sherlock returned to the Cross Keys.

John found him sat by the fire. He seemed a little out of sorts, he may even had said scared or nervous, but Sherlock didn't feel either of those emotions. Hell Sherlock didn't feel emotions at all. Well, at least he pretended not to. John knew it was pointless to ask if he was alright, Sherlock would only snap at him, so he tried to talk about the case, Sherlock fidgeting in his seat the whole time, until he finally confessed that he'd seen it. The Hound of Baskerville.

John had instantly wanted to laugh, instead he'd tried to tell his friend to focus on the facts. Sherlock had spouted some rubbish about 'eliminating the possible' that had left John more than a little confuse. When Sherlock lifted a glass of whiskey and started rambling on about being afraid, John grew concerned. This wasn't his friend. Sherlock was the most put together man he knew. Fear wasn't even in his vocabulary and he hardly ever drank, saying it dulled the mind.

He tried to calm him. Tried to convince him that it was just in his imagination, that it was likely connected to his nicotine withdrawal. Sherlock had gotten defensive.

"Me? - There's nothing wrong with _me_."

He then went on to prove it, giving a rather detailed analyse of two people sat in the far corner of the restaurant. He was buzzing, rambling on faster than John had ever heard him. If he didn't know better he would have said the man was on something, and the truth was, he was - adrenaline, a higher dose than the detective was used to.

"….that's not cheating, that's listening I use my sense John unlike some people so you see I'm fine in fact I might even be better so just leave me _alone_." Sherlock spat furiously.

"Ok, Ok…" John nodded, figuring that his friend just needed to calm down. "…why would you listen to me…" John added, hope to make a point. "…I'm just your friend."

Sherlock face crumbled in disgust. "I don't have _friends_." he snarled.

John felt the words like they were an actually physical attack, hitting him right in the centre of his chest. His breath caught him is chest. He stared at Sherlock for a long moments. Waiting, when Sherlock didn't say anything else, didn't apologize, he snapped.

"I wonder why." He pushed himself out of the leather chair and stormed out of the hotel in need of air.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Outside was cool and John took a much needed deep breath. He wanted to hit him, even though he knew it wasn't all Sherlock fault. There was something wrong with him. He knew that, but he just couldn't help the anger and hurt his words had unleashed in him. After everything they'd been thought over the last year, the idea that Sherlock didn't think of him as a friend was wounding.

Maybe it was his own fault. Everyone had warned him about Sherlock. He didn't do feelings, he was distant and rude and thoughtless. But John had seen otherwise, after the incident at the pool and then the Adler thing, he'd thought that maybe, just maybe Sherlock was opening up, becoming human. - He was clearly an idiot, just like Sherlock said.

John was distracted from his thoughts for a few seconds when he saw the flashing light in the distance. The same light he'd seen out on the moor. Not wanting to go back inside and face Sherlock again, cause frankly he might just give into temptation and hit him, he headed out to investigate.

The walk across the moor did nothing to calm his anger at Sherlock. In fact it seemed to grow. As he thought about the months for casing down murders and smugglers and insane consulting criminals. About the arguments, the excitement, the normal evening watching TV or playing cluedo - that they were _never _doing again. About the laughter they'd shared… and then about the kiss earlier that day. He found his hand tightening around the torch.

Of course the kiss had meant nothing to either of them. It had been a way of Sherlock worming his cigarettes out of his flatmate, but that hadn't stopped it affecting John both on a physical and, as he had to admit now, a somewhat emotional level. The idea that Sherlock didn't even see him as a friend made something in his gut tighten painfully.

As he walked over the dark terrain towards the still flashing light, he wondered what had gotten into him of late. It had started months ago, this thing he didn't want to face. It had been building in him since Irene Adler had crossed their path. Her presence in their lives had been like a whirlwind. She unleashed something in Holmes he'd thought only himself capable off. She'd opened that small window of humanity he'd only seen once or twice, and it had made him a little jealous. - though he'd never admit it openly. Not in a million years. - and she'd seemed able to see in John things he hadn't wanted to even think about.

And the she'd destroyed Sherlock and left John to pick up the pieces.

Maybe that was the reason Sherlock was acting the way he was. John thought. Maybe it was a case of once bitten.

He was still considering this when he discovered the source of the flashing light, and it most certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. Nowhere close. Embarrassed as hell, he turned around headed back down the hill, when his mobile went.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock sat staring into the fire, still shaking with fear. It was ridiculous, he knew that. There was no way he'd seen the hound. They didn't exist, he just had to come up with a reasonable, logical explanation. - Except his mind wouldn't focus on doing that. There was something else pressing on his consciousness, increasing his fear.

He'd been horribly rude to John. Worse than he had ever before. He hadn't meant to snap at him. It wasn't like John was being stupid or foolish, John was neither of those thing, he'd just been concerned but it had triggered something in Sherlock. A nagging doubt that one day John would get fed up with him and leave and it had cause him to become aggressive and defensive. He wanted to show John that he didn't need him. - he didn't need anyone. - Except he did. Though he hadn't known that until John had walked into his life.

Sherlock throw back the rest of the whiskey he'd ordered and closed his eyes. For months him and John had grown close, a lot closer than Sherlock had thought himself possible of getting to another human being. He wasn't even that close to his own brother.

John had given him something no one else had, unconditional support. He'd accepted Sherlock for what he was instantly. Sure there were times he'd put Sherlock in his place, and he'd probably deserved it, - Ok. He always deserved it. - but all in all John was there for him no matter what, and he'd begun to think John Watson was the one constant he could rely on. Though after tonight, who knew.

What was making the whole situation worse was what had happened that morning. Kissing John had been a mistake, one he couldn't quite regret. But it had shifted their relationship into uncharted territory. It had seemed funny at first, pushing John, making him uncomfortable. But Sherlock hadn't counted on his own emotions getting in the way.

He'd been able to play these games a thousand times before without worrying about himself. He'd done it with countless suspects, he'd done it with The Woman, but with John it was different.

Sherlock had never had a relationship, not an emotional one, and as much as he hate to admit his brother was right about anything, he did have a point about his being intimidated by sex. It hadn't really been an issue before. He'd never been all that interested in it. The work was all that mattered. He hadn't felt desire or need, he hadn't cared about anyone this deeply. He'd considered himself beyond it, considered himself asexual, but that had been before. Now he was confused and scared.

Sherlock leapt to his feet. He need air, he needed to think. He was walking to the door when his attention was caught by a woman. Henry's therapist sat at a table in the far corner alone. She needed to be interviewed, but he was in no state to do it, and beside, John was always better at it than he was. Pulling out his phone, he sent a text to John.

**OUTGOING MSG:**

**Henry's therapist currently in Cross Key's pub**

**S**

**INCOMING MSG:**

**So?**

**OUTGOING MSG:**

**Interview her.**

**INCOMING MSG:**

**Why should I?**

Sherlock smiled to himself. His devious nature shining though. There were only two ways Sherlock knew how to get what he wanted out of John Watson. Sadly without him there, he could not use his latest tool, so he had to go with the tried and tested method. Raising his phone he took a photo of the woman and sent it. _That should get him here_. He thought, with an unfamiliar, and highly uncomfortable spark of jealousy shooting thought him.

Pushing the feeling to the back of his mind, blaming it on whatever was making him so irritable, he left the pub, confident that John would arrive soon. After all, he hadn't had sex in almost three months, which of course accounted for his reaction that morning.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

It hadn't taken John long to get back to the pub and find Sherlock gone. Part of him was actually glad. He didn't think he could face the asshole right now. So instead he did his job. Walking over to Louise Mortimer, he introduced himself and asked if he could join her. Everything had gone well enough, he'd been charming and flirtatious and she seemed to be responding just how he wanted. He even thought he might be in with a chance. - Except he really wasn't all that bothered.

Then of course the inevitable happened. Someone opened their mouth, that someone being the only person who knew who he was, and why he was there.

Dr. Frankland interrupted them with a slap on the back before thoughtlessly announcing "How's the investigation going?"

Of course this had led to questions and suspicions and Dr. Frankland rather suggestive announcement that John was the "Live-in P.A." of one Sherlock Holmes, famous detective. Only considering that Dr. Mortimer had never heard of him, obviously not that famous. The date/interrogation had ended instantly with a rather well deserved sarky comment about buying Dr. Frankland a drink cause he liked him.

After that John decided to cut his losses and head up to his room. Hoping that Sherlock was, for once, asleep. Turned out Sherlock wasn't even in the room. With a sigh of relief John prepared himself for bed.

He'd been asleep when Sherlock rushed into the room, still wired. John groaned and flipped over and buried his face into the pillow. He was in no mood for another confrontation with the consulting detective.

"John."

Silence.

"John!"

More silence.

"John! - I need to talk to you."

"Bugger off!" John snapped angrily.

"John, please." Sherlock said in a rush. "…D-don't make me…"

John didn't need to look to know that he was standing over the bed, so he didn't, he just turned his face further into the pillow. "I'm sleeping Sherlock."

There was silence again and John actually thought the bastard had left, so he relaxed a little, sighed and turning back over, only to be met with a hovering ghost of a face.

"Fuck it, Sherlock!" John yelled his heart pounding in his chest. "What!"

Sherlock just stood over him, staring down at the doctor. He could feel his heart pounding out of control in behind his ribs, his blood rushing through his veins. It was irrational, this feeling, this jealousy, this fear. "John." he said in an almost growl, that the doctor clearly heard and understood.

He shot up in the bed and shifted back against the headboard, his gaze warily fixed on the taller man. He'd heard that tone before and his body, traitors thing it was, thrilled at the sound. Taking a breath, John tried to think. "Sherlock…I'll talk. What do you want?" he could feel his own nervous fear fighting with an odd excitement.

"John… I…" he didn't finished what he was saying, he simply crushed his lips down on John's. The breath he'd taken a few moment ago, vanished in a split second.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, another cliffhanger... don't you just love them? No? Oh, sorry *wicked laugh* too bad. **

**So, Thanks to all of you for reading, and to those who have reviewed and faved (if you have) **

**Next chapter ASAP. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Again sorry about the shortness of the chapter.**

**WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode Hounds of Baskerville, **

**Enjoy :)**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER FOUR<strong>

John was forced back against the headboard and his arms went up to push Sherlock away. Unlike the first time, John's lips weren't press tightly closed but had been partly open in preparation to speak. Sherlock of course took full advantage of this. Slipping his tongue into John mouth before he had a change to react.

John's hands pressed against Sherlock shoulders. He couldn't believe the bastard was doing it again and after not one, but two warnings of ABH. He was floundering in the bed like a fish out of water but when Sherlock tongue made a long, slow and seductive seep of his own, and a lustfully moan echoed in his ears he stopped fighting.

It was called fight or flight. That initial gut instinct that takes over when put in unexpected circumstances, and this was most defiantly unexpected. As a soldier it was a common feel that he'd had to both embrace and ignore in equal measure. But right now John chose neither, he picked the third option, one that could be considered brave or foolish depending on your point of view. John chose surrender. Hands in the air, or in this case Sherlock's hair, surrender.

Said hair was wrapped strand for strand around John calloused military fingers, enhancing his grip. He tugged and found his mouth filled with a groan of pleasure that rumbled though his chest. It was enough to warm John's blood and get it pumping to all the right - or wrong if he thought about. Which he had no intention of doing right now. - places. He could feel himself growing hard as Sherlock's hands mirrored his own, carding into John short army cut hair.

John's hands untangled themselves from the thick lush dark locks, sliding down that swan-like neck he'd observed earlier, till they found the collar of Sherlock coat. He wasn't even fully away of what his hands were doing as they struggled to pushed the thick, coarse material off the man shoulders, His body was taking full control of his mind and actions.

He raised his leg so that his foot could find purchase against the mattress allowing him to lift his hips and grind against the thick duvet that separated him from Sherlock. Another moan filled the room as the friction increased. He could feel Sherlock shaking above him. Could feel his hands clawing at his hair, could feel his blood rushing though his veins and his heart pounding in his chest. None of this was new to John. Sex wasn't new to John.

Wanting Sherlock was. It was something he could even begin to figure out. He didn't want to analyse, that was Sherlock thing. He was just content to give into the rush he hadn't felt in months. He wanted to ignore the dark shadow at the back of his mind and just surrender.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock understood quite clearly what was happening, he just wasn't all that sure why. He hadn't planned on any of this. The kiss that morning had been an experiment in seducing information. The threats since had been an experiment in winding his flatmate up. This was never part of his plan. This wasn't an experiment, this was very much real and it was terrifying him.

He'd taken a walk around the village in hopes to clear his head. It wasn't a large village so he'd passed the Cross Keys twice on his circuit. The first time he's glance though the window and seen John talking to Henry's therapist. They were laughing and drinking wine and having what looked to be a good time. John had on his flirtatious smile, one he'd see him use countless times with other women. The woman had blushed and averted her gaze, clear signs that she was attracted to John.

And who wouldn't be. He was kind and brave and loyal - probably too much for his own good. - and he was patient and caring. It really was no wonder he attracted woman the way he did.

As Sherlock had watched them he'd felt a not wholly unfamiliar tightness in his chest cavity. It was a feeling he'd only felt since meeting John. It had shocked him the first time, when it slammed into his chest the day John had told him about Sarah. It had been even worse when he'd had to stand their and watch them together. Luckily for him, John wasn't a consulting detective with a skill for observation. He hadn't realised it at the time, but he'd become quite possessive over the ex-army doctor. Which was precisely why he took every chance he got to sabotage his dates. Making sure he landed John in it. The most recent incident being supposedly forgetting Jeanette's name. Like that would ever happen. Sherlock wouldn't forget something so vital as his flatmate's girlfriends name. Even if there had been a few over the past year. He'd done it because he'd wanted to wind them up. Get under John's skin. Upset the woman to the point of breaking up with his flatmate/colleague/friend. Which it turned out had been relatively easy this time.

Sherlock had brushed this 'date' off, it was work after all, he told himself. But the image of John and the therapist just wouldn't leave him as he took another lap of the village. When he arrived back at the Cross Key's and found the table empty with no sign of John, something had snapped in him. That fear and anxiety he'd been carrying since Dewer's Hollow intensified. He couldn't lose John. Not to some woman he'd only just met. Not to anyone. John was all he had. All he wanted.

He rushed into the room expecting to find the ex-army doctor _en flagrante _only to find him asleep in his bed, alone. He'd felt such a rush of relief that he'd woken the man. He didn't know why, he hadn't planned on it. He'd just done it. Followed that screaming in his head.

And that was how he'd ended up kissing John Watson for the second time in less than twenty four hours.

Only this was so much more than a way of getting what he wanted, this was filled with something Sherlock hadn't felt before and wasn't at all sure he could correctly name. As he'd told 'the woman', he understood the chemistry. He knew why he was having the physical reaction. He got why his blood was racing through his body at lightening speed, his heart thundering against his ribs like Red Rum winning the grand national and his mind wasn't working. What he couldn't explain was the emotional reaction. The mixture of fear and excitement.

When John pulled at his hair, a spark of that unnamed something rushed through his whole being. If he had to name it he's say it was lust. It seemed to fit the descriptions, though he'd never really had any personal experience of it before.

He knew desire, he knew what that felt like vaguely. He'd felt something like it when he'd first met the woman. But this was stronger. With her he had still been able to think. A little irrationally at moments, but think none the less. Here he could barely do that. When he tried all he got was this white noise.

Instincts he'd never needed to rely on, that he hadn't actually believed he had, took control of him. His hands moved without conscious thought, his tongue slid into the other man's partly open mouth, elicited from the back of his throat. A very dirty, shameful moan from them both.

John had asked him once in a not so subtle way about his sexual preferences. Sherlock had told him the work came first. But the truth was Sherlock didn't really have any preferences. He'd never been all that bothered with sex, with men or women. By definition he was asexual.

But that had all changed. Slowly over the past few months he'd begun to think and feel. He'd hidden it away, far away behind a very think wall. But that wall had had a crack. One that the woman had exploited to her own ends.

John was the cause. His support and criticism had been more seductive than anything she could have come up with.

Sherlock heart stopped when he felt John's hand tugging at his coat and scarf, when he felt the press of a body beneath him. The white noise in his head increase to deafening proportions. While his body continued to act under its lustful influence, his mind screamed. That fear yelled in his head that John didn't want this. That John wasn't gay. That John would leave if he let himself follow though with this. _John will leave. _

Sherlock couldn't have that. Not ever. He told himself that what he was feeling wasn't real. That there had to be a reason behind the fear and doubt and anxiety. That the answers where out there waiting for him. Not in here, where he was currently forcing his unwanted attentions on his best friend. He had to find answers. He had to stop this before he destroyed the only friendship he had ever had.

He had to force back the desire, lust and need behind that wall again and seal it closed forever.

With more strength than he would have believed possible in the current situation, he pulled back. Ripping his mouth from John with a groan of angony. - though whether that groan came from him or John, neither were clear.

"Sherlock?" John breathed with confusion, his hands still wrapped in the collar of Sherlock's coat.

Sherlock couldn't look at him, thankfully it was dark. But he could feel his breath on his face and his hands trying to pull him back. Sherlock shook all over, his heart slamming against his ribs in protest.

"Sherlock." John repeated almost pleadingly.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

The doctors answer came with a tug of his coat, ripping it free of John grasp and then the sound of rushing footstep and the closing of a door. John stared, gasping and wide eyed at the empty space. His body protested at the sudden loss of contact and something in his chest, his heart he supposed, tightened painfully.

He would deny he felt rejected, cause that would mean he'd actually wanted it to continue. He was relieved and a little ashamed. He shouldn't have allowed it to go as far as it had. He knew Sherlock had little if no experience. He should have pushed him away and battered the shit. He could have. As strong as Sherlock was, he wasn't a soldier with years of military training.

So why hadn't pushed him off? - Why hadn't used his training that morning when Sherlock had first kissed him? Why was he currently wanting to shoot the bastard for leaving him like that?

All perfectly good questions, and once John Watson had no intention of considering. Instead he slid back down under the cover and tried, most desperately, to sleep. A mission that wouldn't it seemed be accomplished without a lengthy trip to the bathroom.

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><p><strong>So, Thanks to all of you for reading, and to those who have reviewed and faved (if you have) <strong>

**Next chapter ASAP. **


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode the Hounds of Baskerville.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

><p>Sherlock spent the rest of the night driving. Not to anywhere pacifically, just around, trying to clear his head. Trying to get himself under control. He was still shaken by what had almost happened with John. Still haunted by the memory of the hound. Still feeling that unending anxiety.<p>

It wasn't till dawn that these feeling began to fade. Well, most of them. He stood looking out over the moor, his rational mind beginning to work again and his fear of the hound fading to nothing. Now he was on a high, buzzing from the excitement of the case. He'd figured out, mostly, what had happened to him, at least as far as the hound was concerned. Now he just had to go see Henry and get a sample of the sugar.

Sherlock had pushed the whole thing with John out of his mind while he concentrated on the case but the moment he saw John sat alone in the graveyard, looking like some kind of lost puppy, everything came back and he found himself nervous again. He knew he was going to have to face John at some point, especially if his plan was going to work, but after what had happened last night, what had almost happened, he wasn't sure what kind of welcome he was going to receive. John had already warning him yesterday morning that if forced his attention of the ex-army doctor again there would be hospital visits involved.

He stood watching him for a few minutes and as before he couldn't quite bring up the feeling of regret. From what he remembered of last night, it had been exciting and thrilling and filled with a need Sherlock hadn't realised he was capable of feeling for another person.

But it had also been filled with fear and panic. He wasn't experience physically or emotionally and with the drug coursing though his system, he couldn't help but succumbing to it. He'd felt like a frightened child. It was that fight or flight instinct. So he'd run. As fast as his long legs could carry him, because the situation and the ramifications of the moments were just too terrifying for a man who's only encounter with desire had been with a woman who'd used him for her own gains.

Not that he had ever truly desired her. It had just been a game, one she'd lost because her heart had ruled her head. Now Sherlock found himself in the exact same position, and suddenly understood that The Woman hadn't really meant to lay her heart at his feet, it just happened. As falling for John Watson had just happened.

~**SHERLOCK **~

John sat on a stone monument flipping though his notes trying not to think about last night. Which was precisely why he was sat in the middle of a silent graveyard. There were no reminders here. No kissing couples, no loving pub owners, no Sherlock. It was empty but for the dead. Sadly it wasn't working.

It had taken him almost two hours to get back to sleep last night after Sherlock had…woken him. Five minutes of that was spent dealing with the discomfort the sodding detectives had left him in. The rest had been trying to rationalise the disappointment and frustration the incident had caused.

When he'd finally fallen asleep, it hadn't exactly been peaceful. Far from it. He'd woken up that morning harder than he'd been in living memory, his blood buzzing, his mind still filled with images he'd never thought in a million years he'd have about the tall arrogant sod and a anger at the bastard for putting them there. The morning was spent with his hands preoccupied and his head in a world far away from what he'd thought was his reality.

After that, he'd taken a cold shower, grabbed something to eat and gotten the hell out of the Cross Keys, hoping not to see Sherlock on his way out of the door. He still wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed he had.

So here he was, sat in the chilly mid-morning air, staring down at a notebook that made absolutely no sense while his mind played over a mixture of his dream and the kiss that Sherlock had delivered last night. Trying to figure out whether he'd actually, finally, lost his marbles.

He was so caught up in these thoughts that he didn't even notice the tall, lanky git strolling up the path towards him. It wasn't till he stopped in front of him that John became aware. - Very aware.

There was an uncomfortable short silence as John shifted, putting away his notebook and trying to clear away the barrage of erotic images that had been haunting him all morning, never looking at Sherlock for fear of him reading his mind. Though he knew Sherlock couldn't actually do that, no more than he could predict the lottery numbers. But he'd still know with a single look and their was no way in hell John was going to risk it.

Sherlock shifted nervously on his feet, his hands resting in his pockets. He had to try, he didn't want to lose his only friend because of a stupid act of jealousy, fear and doubt. Though he knew it was more than that, at least for him. But John was straight, a hundred per cent straight, everyone knew that….he'd told them often enough. Deciding the best thing to do was to ignore what had happened, he quired John about what he'd found at the hollow.

"You getting anywhere with the Morse code?"

John could feel his anger bubbling away. _Morse code. _That's what he wanted to talk about. No apology or explanation, just on with the case. Typical bloody Holmes.

"No." He snapped, getting to his feet and starting to walk away with his shoulders pulled back and his spine straight.

"U-M-Q-R-A, wasn't it?" Sherlock pressed, following after him, repeating the word in every form he could think of.

"Nothing. - Look forget it. I thought I was onto something…" he swallowed and clenched his jaw for a few seconds as his mind filled with completely unsuitable images. "…but I wasn't"

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

Silence fell between them. Sherlock hated this, he felt awkward and guilty and nervous and unlike last night, it had nothing to do with the drug and everything to do with the realisation of his feeling for the man marching in front of him. He just wanted life to get back to normal. He wanted him and John back to normal. - even if normal meant that he'd never kiss him again.

"How about Louise Mortimer, get anywhere with her?" Sherlock asked trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"No." John replied curtly.

"Too bad." Sherlock smirked behind his back, trying to sound like his usual self, even though he his mind wouldn't let him forget the jealously he'd felt when he'd seen them together thought the pub window. "Did you get any information." he added flippantly.

John felt his heart race at the question. He thought he might even sound a little jealous, but for Sherlock remarked about Dr. Mortimer. Typical Sherlock, case, case, case. Was that all the bastard thought about. Did he had nothing to say about what happened last night. About what had almost happen between them. When Sherlock made his usual smart ass comment John's hands clenched at his side, as he sent a heated glare over his shoulder. "Hmm, you're being funny now."

"Thought it might break the ice a bit." Sherlock smiled.

John frustration was increasing with every step. It was all he could do not to swing for the man. Instead he resorted to a snide comment. "Funny doesn't suit you, I'd stick to ice."

Sherlock's stomach tightened at the comment, and a pain shot through his chest. John actually sounded hurt and angry. He had every rights to be of course, Sherlock had kissed him again. No more than kissed him, he'd all but forced himself on the man. He was actually lucky a few harsh words where all he was getting.

But Sherlock didn't like this. This distance between him and John. He needed to clear the air, get back to normal. Get back to them. "John…"

"It's fine." Though John's voice said it clearly wasn't.

"No, wait. What happened last night…. Something happened to me…." Sherlock tried to explain.

John didn't want to listen. He didn't care. At least that what he kept telling himself. So Sherlock had kissed him and left him aroused, confused and ashamed of his own reaction. He left with no apology or explanation. So he'd said they weren't friends. It made no difference. It wasn't like John really cared. It wasn't like John had thought….anything.

"….Something I haven't really experience before…" Sherlock continued trying to keep up with John increasing pace.

John knew he should be more understanding. He had always suspected Sherlock had never…with anyone. But it was that hurt, rejected, bruised ego part of him that just couldn't forgive or forget the feeling of Sherlock walking out on him. "Yes. You said. Fear. "Sherlock Holmes got scared" you said." John snapped, quickening his pace. He was being childish and a bit of a bitch he knew but he just couldn't help himself.

Sherlock was beginning to panic. Had he really and truly screwed up his friendship with John? "No, no, no…It was more than that John…" he gripped the man's arm to stop him walking, forcing him to look at him. "…It was doubt…." he looked at John hard cold face, the panic took over and he was rambling. "…I felt doubt. Always been able to trust my sense, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night."

John frowned at him. _Still about the case_. He sighed. "You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster?"

"No, I can't believe that, but I did see it…." Sherlock smiled smugly. "…so the question is how? - How!"

John clenched his fist once again fighting the urge to punch the man. He knew what Sherlock was like when it came to his work. He warned him the first time they'd met. _"I consider myself married to my work…". _So he really shouldn't be all that surprised that this rant, this explanation about last night had absolutely nothing to do with them on a personal level. Yet, knowing that didn't ease the feeling of hurt in his chest.

Meeting Sherlock's gaze John resigned himself to the fact that Sherlock Holmes was a selfish workaholic who would never apologise for anything. "Yes. Yeah, right. Good. - So you've got something to go one them. Good luck with that." he said as he turned and walked away. Not just from Sherlock but possibly from their friendship and whatever else may have come out of it.

Sherlock stared in horror as he watched John walk away. He'd let himself get side tracked. He started out meaning to explain what had happened last night, why he'd done what he'd done and ended up rambling on about the case. He could feel a hole opening up in his gut at the idea that John wasn't just walking away from the case but from him. He could allow that. John was all he had. He was all that mattered to him outside of his work. In fact over the past few months, since that night in the pool actually, Sherlock had come to realise that John actually mattered more than his work.

He needed to do something, say something. He needed to save their friendship before it was completely destroyed by one thoughtless, drug induced moment. "Listen…" Sherlock called after his friend. "…What I said before John, I meant it." John didn't stop. "I don't have friends…." He took a deep breath, "…I just have you!"

John froze mid-step. His heart suddenly racing. For Sherlock that was probably as close as he'd ever get to an apology, or even a declaration of affection. John slowly turned to look at Sherlock. He looked like he actually meant every word and John couldn't help the warm feeling spreading thought his chest. Was he really going to throw away their friendship over something he hadn't wanted to happen in the first place, let alone again? The answer was clear as day. - Not that he was going to let him know he'd forgiven him so easily. "Right." he turned to leave.

"John?"

A small smile pulled at John's features as Sherlock called after him.

"John! - You're amazing, you're fantastic!"

"Yes, All right." John laughed. "You don't have to over do it."

Sherlock rushed after John. The man truly had a way of inspiring his mind to work in way he hadn't thought possible. Was it any wonder he didn't want to lose the man.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, another chapter down. Hope you liked it. I'd like to state again that the conversation between John and Sherlock is taken from the episode pretty much word for word, I only wrote the meaning and feelings behind the words. However I did change one line from the episode….**_"I don't have friends, I just have one." _**I re-wrote it because as Sherlock was saying it I honestly thought he would say **_you _**and was disappointed he didn't. **

**I apologize for the spelling and grammar mistakes, I really am trying to do better. Though in my defence I did warn you at the beginning so… anyway, I have to confess that I have no patience to beta. I know, its selfish and wrong but I just want to share the story the moment I've written it... and surely my mistakes aren't that many or none of you would read at all, right? **

**As always thanks for reading, reviewing the previous chapters (I love reading reviews, it makes me very, very happy. I can't help but smile when I see them in my inbox) and a special thanks if your one of those who has added this story to your favourites list. I'm very honoured, truly. **

**Well, that's it from me for now. Off to write the next chapters of this and Don't Make Me, John. Which I'll post ASAP. Promise. Till next time. **

"**Stay Calm and Believe In Sherlock"**

**GATERGIRL79 **


	6. Chapter 6

**WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode the Hounds of Baskerville.**

**Enjoy**

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><p>John strolled thought the labs at Baskerville, he wasn't at all sure what he was looking for. They'd already figured out that the so-called hound was really a dog Gary and Billy had used to attracted tourist to the area after Henry's TV appearance. The thing had been put-down days ago. So why Sherlock had dragged him back here, this time with the permission of his brother, he really had no idea.<p>

As he marched through the slowly emptying labs his mind wasn't all that focused on the search, after all there wasn't really anything to find, so he focused instead on Sherlock… more precisely his reactions to Sherlock.

It was actually giving him a headache trying to understand why suddenly with no warning at all, the tall lanky detective seemed to be having an uncharacteristic affect on him. He'd still tell the world he wasn't gay. He was as sure of that as he was that their was no such thing as the Hound of Baskerville. But he couldn't deny that Sherlock had sparked something in him that was hard, pardon the pun, to ignore.

From the moment Sherlock had kissed him yesterday morning in an completely ridiculous attempt to seduce the cigarettes out of him, John's mind hadn't been able to work quite right. He'd found his thoughts drifting in the direction of Sherlock's mouth and other body parts more than was considered healthy. - At least healthy for a man who was a hundred per cent straight anyway. - But no matter how many times he told himself that it was just a reaction to sexual frustration, he couldn't deny that it was more than that.

He'd been hurt last night at Sherlock's harsh words in the pub restaurant. He would have expected anger, Sherlock always had a way of making him angry, but it hadn't been anger, frustration or even disappointment, it had been pain ripping though his chest. - And that had confused the bloody hell out of him.

Sherlock's return to their room and the subsequent snogging/humping session had just added to his confusion as well as his growing desire. Yes, that what he said desire. Because as much as he would never, NEVER, say it out load to anyone, he had actually desired his bastard-arrogant-tosser-consulting-detective flatmate. He couldn't say since when. Though thinking back as he moved from one lab to another, he'd say that maybe the arrival of a certain woman might have sparked something in John Watson's manly alpha male ego. Cause lets be honest, at least with ourselves, he could have stopped that kiss yesterday morning if he'd really wanted to. He was a soldier after all. He killed people on bad days. But all he'd done was aimless push at Sherlock's skinny yet muscled shoulders with about as much will power as Harry turning down a drink.

And then their was last night. Again he hadn't tried overly hard to stop it and once Sherlock's tongue touched his, well there was no stopping him or his hormone riddled body. He knew, or was pretty sure at least, that if Sherlock hadn't have done that infuriate disappearing act, their little _'moment' _might not have been such a moment and more of a life altering occasion.

John walked across the bright white lab, paying only the briefest mind of the scientist that were walking out, turning the lights out as they went. Continuing on towards the far door his mind returned to his currently emotional and physical dilemma. - if you could really call it that.

Truth was a dilemma by definition meant a situation with unsatisfactory choices. John wasn't quite sure which choice was the unsatisfactory one? He could either ignore what had happened with Sherlock, as the detective seemed to be doing and allow their lives to continue on, one day, one case at a time. Sherlock focused solely on his work, while he carried on trying to make it work with whichever woman he was lucky enough to pick up, bring home and convince that Sherlock wasn't his partner in that sense of the word.

Or he could force the issue with Sherlock and see where it led. They were already living together after all. Most of the people they met thought they were in some kind of relationship, so it wouldn't be all that different from now. Except that there'd be kissing and groping and maybe more.

John paused as he looked around a cold room, checking in a desk. It was the more that was actually the slicking point. Again, no pun intended. Kissing Sherlock hadn't been all that bad if he was truthful. For a guy who had no experience, well at least he assumed none, unless something had happened with that Adler woman Sherlock hadn't told him about. - that idea made John's jaw clench tight.- he certainly knew what he was doing and how to do it really well. Though knowing Sherlock, he'd probably read books about it.

Being groped by Sherlock hadn't been bad either. He could only image what those long, elegant fingers could do. They certainly seemed to know their way around a violin.

So really the only thing that John just could get his mind around was the more physically aspects. Sure he knew how it worked, he was a doctor for gods sake, he'd even had the misfortune to witness it once while one tour, something he would never speak off for the sake of the two soldiers involved. After all with a gay sister he was hardly going to judge anyone for their preferences, it had just been a surprise. A very uncomfortable surprise. So he knew that if he did take the second option then it would mean, well. He turned around to head back to the main lab.

It would mean that one of them was going to have to…well, there was no way in hell it was going to be him. It was embarrassing enough going to a prostate examine, no way was anything else going up there. His arse was most defiantly a one way street, except in a medical emergency. Which left Sherlock. - And considering the guy was as green around the gills as a sick dolphin - do dolphins have gills? Oh, never mind. - and as scared as Johnny Depp in a circus, it seemed highly unlikely any kind of relationship would get past the kissing, groping, humping stage and John wasn't at all sure he'd be satisfied with a sexless partnership.

John sighed as he pushed the door, resigned to the fact that fate had decided for them. It was going to be option A. Back to being flatmates, colleagues and the bane of each others lives.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock sat in the security office alone with a mug of tea watching John walked causally though the labs. He sat smiling to himself a little sadistically. He really knew this wasn't a nice thing to do, especially considering everything he'd already done to John in the last twenty four hours, but he needed to test his theory and John had always been the perfect guinea-pig.

As he watched the CCTV screens, his mind played over recent events and his relationship with John, now that his rational brain was back full working order and the fear had been pushed aside he could focus. He thought about the way everybody already assumed they were together. Why did they do that? John didn't give off any characteristics that moronic people would associate with being gay, he was obviously an alpha male type, yet time and again John was having to tell people he wasn't gay.

And why did he insist on doing that anyway? Why did it bother him so much? His sister was gay so he obviously wasn't homophobic. It had never bothered Sherlock in the least, though Sherlock tended not to care at all what people thought of him.

He thought about the night in Angelo's and John's overly defensive instance that he wasn't his date and then that he hadn't been hitting on him. Sherlock frowned. It had sounded like he'd been testing the water. John had looked interested at the time until Sherlock had explained about the work. Then suddenly John was denying that that had been his meaning in the question and Sherlock had gone back to the more important case and hadn't thought about it again.

Sherlock stared at the screen as the cameras followed John's movements. He'd had everything set up in advance, thanks to Mycroft. Sometimes his brother had his uses. As John headed into the large white lab, the one where the experiment would happen, Sherlock's thoughts turned to more recent events in their relationship.

The situation with the woman had been a surprise to them both. She'd actually gotten a reaction out of Sherlock, both physical and emotional, though not the same kind he'd gotten from her. He'd found that he was open to physical desire and emotional ego boosting, both of which he realised in hindsight, he'd been getting from John since almost the moment they'd met.

She'd also given him a lesson in jealousy. Not that he'd been jealous, but that John had. Or at least he'd shown many of the signs. Questioning his relationship with her, his feelings towards her. Asking him constantly about the texts. Counting the texts. Sherlock had even noticed the odd look John would send at the phone when it gave it's tell-tell _'Ahhh'_. Like the thing was an unexploded bomb he wanted to defuse and get rid of before it blow him to piece.

Then their was the argument between her and John he'd over heard at Battersea Power Station. Something in John's tone with her, the accusing and defensive manner in which he demanded that she reveal that she was alive. The way he'd sounded angry and once more jealous when his suspicions about the texts were confirmed and what she'd been texting him. He'd assumed, quite wrongly, that Sherlock's none-reply meant that she was special in some way. The truth was, he enjoyed the game, playing her while she thought she was playing him. She'd have never believed he was so easy if he'd replied to her flirtation. Watching her trying to reel him in had been all part of the fun.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw John enter the far lab. He shifted forward on his seat and waited in preparation for his experiment to begin. He could focus on his and John…issues when the case was over.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

John stepped out of the small cold lab and back into the now dark larger one. He'd barely taken a few steps when he was hit with a blinding light to his right. He tried to shield his eyes from it but that didn't help. Then the noise started, deafening screaming noise that shot right though his eardrums to pound against his brain painfully. He rushed to the other door, pulling out the key card as he went. Swiping it though the electronic lock he swore when it denied him. He hated bloody technology, or maybe it hated him. He swiped the card again with no luck.

Then suddenly the room went dark and the noise stopped. John sighed with relief as white spots floated in front of his eyes and the ringing began in his ears. He pulled out the small flash light he carried in his black jacket and made a sweep of the room. The cages were all cover and he was suddenly hit with that awful feeling that there was something in there with him, a feeling the distant sound of movement intensified. He rubbed his eyes to clear the white spots before he moved nervously close to the cages and began to pull back the sheets.

He released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding when he found the first cage empty. Swallowing hard he moved on, pulling back another sheet. The second cage was also empty and open. He moved on. Pulling back the third sheet he jumped out of his skin when a monkey leapt onto the bars and screamed at him.

By now his heart was pounding hard against his ribs and a cold sweat was beginning to form down his spine. Neither of which was help when he got to the final cage and saw that the bars at the bottom had been bent outwards, as if something had forced itself free.

Suddenly panic took hold. Panic and fear, his heart rate rocketed, his blood screamed in his ears. He swung the torch anxiously around the lab but could seen nothing. He tried to stay calm as he walked to the cold lab, at the door a chill rushed down his spine at the sound of a deep growl. With shaking hands he tried to key card only for it not to work. John swore again. How could it not work when he'd only just left the room? He tried it a couple more times again with no luck.

With his heart out of control and his breathing coming in desperate pants, John reached into his pocket and retrieved his mobile, hitting speed-dial and waiting to hear Sherlock's voice. - It never came. The phone just rang and rang.

"Don't be ridiculous. Pick up, damn it." he whispered, but there was still no answer.

Thrusting the phone back into his pocket, he turned to head to the other door. The flash light sweeping the darkened room. At the other door he fumbled for the key card yet again but was stopped by the sound of movement followed by another growl. He heard pattering footsteps and John instinctively pressed himself against the lab door and covered his mouth.

Another growl and more movement had John rushing for safety. He all but threw himself into the open cage, pulling the door closed and dropping the sheet in front of him. Leaving a small gap for him to see through.

Snarling, growling and footsteps had John covering his mouth to hold in the terrified whimper. Then his phone rang and he wasn't sure whether to be scared of attracting attention from whatever was prowling the lab or relieved that Sherlock could come and save him. Either way he knew he had to answer it quickly.

"It's here. It's here with me." John whispered.

"_Where are you?" _Sherlock's voice echoed out of the phone.

"Get me out Sherlock. - You've got to get me out…" his voice broke with a squeak. "…the first lab that we saw."

Another growl had John falling silent with an "oh." of panic.

"_John? John?"_

"Now Sherlock, please." John pleaded with a tight voice that screamed terror.

"_Alright, I'll find you. Keep talking."_

"I daren't, it'll hear me."

"_John?"_

"Yes. I'm here."

"_What can you see?"_

"I don't know. I don't know. - But I can hear it though."

There was another growl. "Did you hear that?" John whispered.

_Stay calm. Stay calm. Can you see it? Can you see it?"_

"No." John said peering though the gap in the sheet. Then he froze and forced himself into the furthest corner of the cage as he finally caught sight of the beast. The beast he hadn't believed in. Huge red eyes met his and the glow of its fur gave off an eeriness that had John's blood turning to ice. "I can't see it. - It's here. - It's here." he said as a shadow passed over the sheet.

Then there was light and air and Sherlock. Crouching beside him in the cage and reassuring him. "Are you alright? John?"

John acted out of instinct or panic or maybe it was a need to feel safe and alive. His trembling hands grabbed at Sherlock's coat collar and pulled him closer. Crushing their mouths together in a hungry, frantic kiss that left Sherlock crouched wide eyed. Though his eyes only stayed wide for a few moments before the fell closed and he gave himself over to the kiss. His hands going up to rest against John ice cold cheeks.

The kiss didn't last all that long. It was a short, intense sweep of each others mouth then Sherlock was pulling away, looking at John with a small reassuring smile and once again asking if he was alright.

John pushed himself past Sherlock and out into the lab. "Jesus Christ! It was the hound!" he gasped, still catching his breath from both the panic and the kiss. "Sherlock it was here. I swear it Sherlock. It must…Did you see it, you must have."

"It's all right, its okay now." Sherlock tried to reassure him.

"No its not! It's not okay. I saw it. I was wrong!" John yelled.

Sherlock gave him a small self-satisfied smile. "Hmm, lets not jump to conclusions."

"What?"

"What did you see?"

"I told you. I saw the hound." John was growing angry. Why was the arse asking him questions. He'd just been proven right, he should be giving him the whole 'I-told-you-so' speech.

"Huge red eyes?"

"Yes,"

"Glowing?" Sherlock smirked.

"Yeah."

Sherlock laughed a little. "No."

John frowned. "What?"

"I made up the bit about the glowing. - You saw what you expected to see because I told you."

John looked around in disbelief, No he'd seen it. He knew he'd seen it.

"You have been drugged. We have all been drugged."

"Drugged?" John frowned.

Sherlock took a step forward and placed a hand on John shoulder. The pairs gazes met for a few moments as understanding seeped in. Last night, Sherlock's fear and anxiety, it had all been down to some drug. John felt a tightness in his gut. Had it all been because of the drugs? Sherlock kissing him last night? A voice in his mind reminded him that the twat had kissed him long before they'd reached Dartmoor, but it was over shadowed by the voice yelling that the two incidence were connected. One had been the result of nicotine withdrawal, the other the result of narcotic withdrawal. Neither had meant a damn thing.

John swallowed hard and forced himself to breath and forget that only a short while ago he was contemplating a possible change of team.

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><p><strong>AN: Hi everyone, as you can probably tell we're drawing close to the end now, I think there may only be another chapter or two, sadly. I'm glad your still with me and thanks for all the lovely feed back, you make me so very happy. I'd like to thank those of you who have encouraged me every step of the way. It's much appreciated and to those who have very kindly offered to Beta me. I'm very grateful, but as we're pretty close to the end I don't really think there's much point taking up your precious time for just one more chapter. I hope you don't mind. Maybe next time. **

**A few things about this chapter before I sigh off….**

**1) Johnny Depp is well known to had a fear of clowns, hence **_the 'as scared as Johnny Depp in a circus' _**thing, if you don't already know. **

**2) I have a slight theory/wishful thinking that Sherlock knew exactly what Irene Adler was up too from the beginning and that he was actually playing her. Whether Mycroft was in on it or not, I'm not sure. I'd like to think so. **

**3) John and Sherlock's entire phone and beast conversations were taken from the episode word for word. So right to it belong to the BBC and so on. **

**And Finally, Thank you all so much for reading. For the wonderful reviews and to everyone who has added this story and me to their favourites list. Totally honoured…Really. **

**Bye for now. **

"**Stay Calm and Believe In Sherlock"**

**GATERGIRL79 **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode the Hounds of Baskerville.**

**This is an uncharacteristically long chapter for me. Here's where I earn my M rating so if you don't like, don't read any further. Though if you don't like, I have to wonder why your reading this at all. I mean I did warn you it was slash. Rofl. If your still around. Enjoy. **

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><p>John, Sherlock and Greg Lestrade, yes that's his real name much to Sherlock's earlier surprise, were sat at a corner table in the Cross Keys Pub. It was almost 11 PM and they'd had a hell of an eventful night. Solving the mystery of the Hound of Baskerville, stopping Henry Knight from blowing his brains out, Uncovering an illegal experiments Dr. Frankland was working on and shooting a rather vicious dog they'd previously been told had been putdown, and all while suffering the effects of an hallucinogenic drug that made people paranoid to the point of going postal. Was it any wonder that the three men needed a drink.<p>

While Sherlock and Lestrade sat going over the events at Dewer's Hollow, the H.O.U.N.D experiment and the death of Dr. Frankland, John couldn't get his mind to focus. He felt like climbing the walls. He knew it was the drug but that wasn't all that was bothering him.

Ever since Sherlock had told him they'd been drugged, John couldn't shake this gut-wrenching feeling of disappointment. The idea that what had happened between him and Sherlock had meant anything was actually disturbingly painful. He had tried to pretend on their way from Baskerville to stop Henry, that what he was feeling was just because of the drug, but he knew that for the lie it was. He'd been thinking about Sherlock…fantasising about Sherlock, since their kiss yesterday morning and last night's little moment hadn't helped any.

So instead of trying to pretend, John just wallowed in his own screwed up misery, paying no attention to anyone. He just sat there staring into his glass and waiting for the drug to ware off. Pointlessly hoping that when it did, everything would go back to normal.

Sherlock was fully aware of John distance and was glad the Lestrade decided to head off to bed. Leaving the flatmate alone. He looked over at John with concern. "John? Are you alright?"

John didn't answer the question, he just nodded and pushed his chair back from the table. "I'm going to get some sleep." he murmured as he walked away.

Sherlock hung back for a few minutes trying to figure out what was wrong with his friend. He'd been acting strange all day. Which ruled out the drug, though that did account for John's nervous discomfort, but not for his mood.

He'd thought that their conversation at the grave yard that morning had cleared the air and settled any confusion. Even if it left Sherlock feeling empty knowing that he wouldn't be able to have John the way he wanted him. But in the long run, it was more important to keep John in his life and risk losing him by confessing that he did have a heart and John Watson's name was carved into it.

Resigned to the idea that he was never going to figure out what was wrong with John while suffering from the effects of the drug, he decided his only option was sleep.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock entered the room to find John sat up in bed with his notebook.

"Writing up your notes?" Sherlock asked as he closed the room and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it in the wardrobe next to John's shirts. He paused, staring at the sight. There was something right about their cloths hanging beside each other, like it was mirroring their relationship. Side by side, through thick and thin. It was strange how that idea was making Sherlock crave something he'd never thought he'd ever want or need.

"Yeah." John replied never lifting his gaze from the pad. He really didn't want to look at Sherlock right now. He waited for the man to head into the bathroom to change for bed, but he didn't move, he just began undoing the buttons on his shirt where he stood at the end of his bed.

Finally John's gaze lifted from his pad before snapping right back down again. He could feel the heat racing up his neck and down to his groin. Absently he licked at his too dry lips and cleared his throat while shifting beneath the covers. His mind was already making a plan on how to deal with his growing discomfort. He'd wait for Sherlock to get into bed and turn off the light, then John would sneak into the bathroom.

Of course, as always John's plans never work out the way there meant to. He couldn't stop himself watching Sherlock undress covertly. He had to admit, the man wasn't all that bad. Yes, he actually thought that. Sherlock may look all skin and cheekbone when dressed, but undressed he had taunt subtle muscle. He had the kind of elegant body of a male ballet dances, misleadingly filled with strength.

John swallowed hard as Sherlock stepped out of his pants and his breath caught in his throat as he prayed the man wasn't going to sleep naked. He knew Sherlock did on occasion. He'd seen him more than once marching around the flat wrapped in a bed sheet.

John realised that this wasn't the first time he'd seen Sherlock stripped of his clothes, but it was most defiantly the first time it was have a physical affect on him.

"John are you alright?" Sherlock suddenly asked turning to face him. "Your looking flushed."

John suddenly released that his gaze had been not so subtly focused on Sherlock arse, and what an arse it was. "I…I…" John suddenly jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom without finishing his sentence.

Sherlock frowned and followed after him. "John?" the only answer he received was a strangled groan from the other side of the door that had panic rushing though the detective. Who knew what kind of side-effects the drug might have on his friend. Sherlock didn't knock, he just burst into the bathroom and froze. John was sat on the loo seat, his shaking hand wrapped in almost a vice grip around his erection.

John couldn't believe he hadn't locked the door. Damn rookie mistake. It was the first thing you learnt as a teenager. Yet here he was caught literary with his pants down by the last person he wanted to see. At least in the flesh, and there was an awful lot of flesh. Creamy, white, glowing flesh. He felt his hand tighten around himself as his gaze took in those smooth muscles. His breath became in heavy, short pants, as if he'd ran a marathon.

Sherlock stood entranced in the doorway. What he'd felt last night during their kiss didn't hold a candle to the way he was feeling at that moments. He'd thought seeing the woman naked had nudged at his long repressed primal urges, but it held nothing on the ones racing through him the second he'd walked into the bathroom. The air had left his lungs and there was no air in the room to replace it. He swallowed hard as he took a step towards John.

The drug was still intensifying his fear of the situation, after all he'd never done this before but it seemed biology was a wonderful tutor. Sherlock acted on instinct as he had the previous morning then all this had started. His hands gripped the sides of John's face as he lent down and locked his lips with the other mans. It wasn't the teasing, slow, seductive kiss of the previous morning or the nervous intrigued kiss of the previous night, it was hard, rough and dirty and it had both men shaking in each others hands.

This time John didn't fight or struggle against the taller man, he gave himself over to the desire he'd been feeling for almost the past forty eight hours. He left his painfully hard erection and lifted both hands to wrap into Sherlock silky dark locks, pulling his mouth harder against him.

Their tongues battled for dominance, wrapping over and around the other. Both men drowning in each others unique taste. John teeth biting and tugging at Sherlock lower lip with a deep groan that rippled through both of them. John's callused rough hands slid from the detectives hair, down over the sharp cheekbones, his swan-like neck. Over his flat muscles chest where John fingers tingled as they swept over the light scattering of hair that coated the mans flesh. They kept moving till they reached the man's slim hips.

The fingers drug into the warm flesh determined to leave a mark. Finally John tugged Sherlock down onto his lap. The detectives found himself straddling the ex-army doctor, his hips working of their own accord as they sort something Sherlock was unsure of until a spark rushed though his body as his groin made contact with John own naked crotch. His moan of pleasure filling John mouth, eliciting a response.

Sherlock hadn't excepted this. The feeling was so intense and he had to wonder if it was being heightened by the drug coursing through their veins. He pulled away, trying to breath though his desire as he looked into the lust filled eyes of John Watson.

"John… I…" he groaned as John ground his hips up against Sherlock's, causing the man to clench his jaw and breath before he could carry on. "… I.. ahhh, J-John, I d-don't k-know if this…. Is a g-good t-time…" another deep rumbling groan escaped his throat. "….the drug is still…."

"Screw the drug." John growled, pulling Sherlock's mouth hard against his once more.

They continued kissing for a few more minutes. Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's neck and shoulders, his fingers carding through the short slightly greying hair at the back of his head. John own hands clawing at the perfect porcelain flesh that was pulled over Sherlock's back and hips. Their erections grinding together in a desperate primal rhythm that John had known most of his life but was a new wondrous experience to the consulting detective.

After a while both men knew this wasn't enough for them. They'd waited for this for longer than they could have believed. John dragged his mouth away and down Sherlock's neck, sucking at the pulse point till he was sure there would be a mark. Whether conscious or not, John Watson was marking the great detective as his own, just in case another woman - or man - decided to encroach on his territory.

"Sheeerrrlock." he growled against the now tender flesh.

"Hmmm." he sighed huskily.

John didn't ask with words, slightly out of fear, as it saying the words would burst the erotic bubble they'd built around themselves. Instead he'd trust up against Sherlock and his answer came in a low throaty pleading moan that told the doctor all he needed to know.

If ever a man's career choice came in handy it was John Watson's. Reluctantly shifting Sherlock off his lap so as to retrieve the wash bag he'd left on the sink cabinet that morning. It didn't take him long to located the small tub of Vaseline he used for the dry skin on his feet. He glanced up at Sherlock to find the man's brow raised in question.

"You try spending five years in army issue socks and boots in a dry climate." John explained in a deep rough voice, his breath catching in his throat at the fear that the words had burst the bubble. He sat still with the white and blue tub in his hand and his gaze fixed on the man towering over him. Suddenly feeling very unsure and exposed.

The fear evaporated as Sherlock threw himself into another hungry kissed, forcing John's back against the cold ceramic toilet, he was thankful that he was still wearing his top, so the cold was reduced against his skin.

The small tub was dropped into John's lap, freeing his hands to once against bite into the other man's hipbones before they begun to wrench at his underwear. Which slid down Sherlock's thigh like a knife in butter, exposing the man's own impressive arousal that had the air fleeing from John's lungs with a single look. He glanced up at Sherlock for an instant and saw the smug confident smirk that was usually reserved for deductions and John's own grin swam across his features before he pulled the man back down onto his lap.

It was a strange sensation to feel another mans genitals pressed against his own. John would never in a million year have thought he'd find this a turn on, but then Sherlock had opened his eyes to so much over the past year and a half, this was just another thing the detective had taught him.

The pair just sat and kissed for a few a while, adjusting to the shift in their relationship. It wasn't the hungry, heated make-out session they'd started with. This was slow, sensual and caring. John's hand cradling Sherlock's head, while he's fingers clenched at John's shoulder. As they kissed their body's moved against one another seeking purchase and friction. Needing that spark they both felt earlier. When it finally hit, it returned them both to that bubble where nothing existed but them.

Reaching down between them John retrieved the all but forgotten tub. Being a doctor, he knew that preparation was key and he'd given his fair share of prostate exams in his time, though he would never have thought that embarrassing experience would come into use outside of an exam room. But it did make it quick and easy for him to slick his fingers with his eyes closed, which they very much were as he focused solely on the amazing things Sherlock was doing with his tongue.

When he was sure his fingers were as covered as he could get them, he pulled his lips an hairs-breadth from Sherlock's. "This isn't going to be all that comfortable Sherlock…not at first. - Are you sure?" he need to know. Cause as much as he wanted this, and god did he want it, he wouldn't force it on his friends.

Sherlock's answer came in the form of a refreshed hungry kiss and a groan. John smiled against his lips as he positioned his finger and waited for the tell-tale gasped as he pressed up. It came as expected and John's caring medical side took over and he stilled his hand. Leaning back to whisper reassuringly into Sherlock's ear. It didn't take long before he felt Sherlock shifting against his hand and continued on, working at the tight heat one finger at a time.

Sherlock's head dropped against John's shoulder as he clenched his jaw against the discomfort. He wasn't sure he believed what he'd read about this being a pleasurable act, it didn't fit any definition of pleasure he knew. Then John moved his fingers just so and a spark of white light shot though his every sense to settle in his brain, causing a figurative explosion. His heart was pounding against his chest plate, his blood was racing through his veins in one direction only and he was groaning into John's shoulder.

Then he was whimpering into it as he felt John withdrawing his digits. The muscles clenched around them in a show of rebellion and he heard John laugh in his ear.

"Sherlock, let me go. - I'm not finished yet." he said in a husky deep tone against Sherlock's neck.

The detective did what he always did, he trusted John and relaxed, releasing the mans trapped fingers. There was no contact for a few moments, though he could feel movement on John's part. Then the doctors hands were on his lips again, guiding him. He felt the solid velvet steel against his rear and sucked in a nervous fearful breath. Suddenly he was wondering if her really wanted to do this. What would it mean for their friends? Could they carry on after this?

"Last chance Sherlock. In or out? - Not pun intended." he smiled as he looked into the sea blue eyes.

John's doubts were nonexistent by now. Lust, desire and something he really wasn't ready to name had taken full control of him. His decision was made, now it was just up to Sherlock. Whatever choice he made, John would respect.

Sherlock swallowed hard, looking into his friends supportive, encouraging, trustworthy face, he knew that whatever this was, it wouldn't destroy what they had. It could only strengthen the bond between them. So with another deep breath, he nodded and gasped as John guided him down.

It took a few slow, careful moments before John was sheathed fully inside his flatmate/friend/colleague/partner and another few moments before John felt confident enough to move. It was a strange sensation for a man who'd only ever been with woman. There was something wholly different and awe-inspiring about it. The tightness and heat, the friction heightened every movement and sensation. It stole his breath with every thrust.

Sweat clung to the men's flesh as they moved against each other. John thrusting up into Sherlock with a primal grunt, while the detective who was always so calm, so distant, so focused lost in all in the whirlwind of pleasure. When John hit his prostate Sherlock moan his names loudly, the sound echoing off the white tiles.

The noises Sherlock was making cause John to grin like the Cheshire cat. He stared up at the dissolving man above him and couldn't help the arrogant pride flooding through him at the idea that he, John Watson, doctor, soldier and personal blogger was the only person that had ever made Sherlock Holmes almost human.

His gaze shifted to Sherlock's own abandoned arousal as it twitched against his stomach. John moved his hand from Sherlock's hip and took hold of it, acknowledging silently the strangeness of hold another man's penis with the express goal of giving pleasure rather than a medical exam. With his fingers gently, yet firmly encasing Sherlock he focused on matching the rhythm of his hand to that of his thrusts.

To John and Sherlock surprises they came together, crying each others names. John's head rested against the sweat drenched breastplate of Sherlock, while the detective panted into John's shoulder. Both men spent, tired and wholly satisfied with the twist in their relationship.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay guys. That was my second ever attempt at a proper sex scene and it was probably the most embarrassing and nerve-wracking thing I've ever written. I hope it was alright with you guys. Sex-scenes are really not my thing, I'm just not all that comfortable with them but this story really needed it. It took me three hours to write just because I had to build up the courage. Though I will say this is by no means becoming a regular occurrence. On the bright side I did have to stare at the Sherlock dropping the bed-sheet pics for a while just so I could describe his body, not sure I did it justice. But hey, we all suffer for our art, right. rofl. **

**Well, anyhow, this is the second to last chapter. So be prepared. **

**As usual, Thank you all so much for reading. For the wonderful reviews and to everyone who has added this story and me to their favourites list. Totally honoured…Really. **

**Bye for now. **

"**Stay Calm and Believe In Sherlock"**

**GATERGIRL79 **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode the Hounds of Baskerville. Last Chapter people. sorry, but its the end of the road. So enjoy. **

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><p>John woke up feeling relax, calm and just a tad bit like he'd fallen down a rabbit hole and into some weird alternate reality where waking up after a night shagging his roommate, who was a hundred per cent male, felt as normal as tea and toast. What was even stranger was the warm feeling he had in the pit of his stomach at the feel of a heavy arm draped over his waist.<p>

To say last night had been a revelation would be considered an understatement by anyone's standards. But it was a surprisingly welcome one. What had started as a slightly drug infused heat of the moment thing in a tiled while bathroom and turned into an almost all night shag-fest. Well, maybe shag-fest was putting it a little strongly. It was more two-shags-kissing-wank-fest.

John smiled to himself as he thought about the previous night, or he should probably say that morning as they hadn't gotten to sleep until at least 4AM. Sherlock had been the best thing of the night. For a self-confessed asexual workaholic he'd thrown himself into his new found sex life whole-heartedly and at times John had been hard pressed to keep up with him. He could only imagine what it was going to be like when they got home.

He knew that no matter what the work would come first and he was fine with that. In fact if John was honest, he'd admit that the work had kind of become important to him too. But when there wasn't any work, when Sherlock was bored or found life dull… or when he was coming down from the high of solving some case or other, John knew that that's when things where going to get both interesting and dangerous, because Sherlock was as renowned for his impatience as he was for his deductive skills. He could almost see it now. Instead of shoot the living room wall or using his skill to embarrass whoever was in a five foot radius, it would be _'John, I'm bored. Lets have sex.' _or a text pretty much saying the same thing and he wouldn't care who was around or where they were, he'd just say it and expect John to drop everything to accommodate him, because that's what John did.

The idea however wasn't at all displeasing and that was one hell of a shock to the ex-army doctors system. He shifted back against the warmth of Sherlock's body and glaced across at the clock. It was still early and he groaned that he hadn't slept longer. Three hours wasn't enough. Either his movement or his noise gained the sleeping detectives attention because he suddenly felt Sherlock's morning stiffy pressing against his arse causing him to swallow hard and suck in a lustful breath.

He'd made it very clear last night that if Sherlock wanted to continue this, which he'd eagerly insisted he did, then their were rules and boundaries. One such rule being that by no mean was John getting fucked. Not this side of death anyway. Cause lets face it, knowing John's apparent luck there was such a thing as reincarnation and he'd come back as a girl. - and Sherlock would very likely come back as himself. Anyway, Sherlock had agree to the terms and they'd fallen into bed for another round of shagging.

"Hmmm."

John heard his… what did he call him now, moan into his shoulder.

"I'm still your friend John…" Sherlock announced in a husky, sexy, lazy voice that shot right to John's groin. "…if you must label us, then lets stick to that one."

John rolled his eyes. He still hadn't figured out how the bastard was able to read his mind when he wasn't even looking at him.

"I'm not reading your mind, I just know how you think." Sherlock laughed, pulling the shorter man closer to press a kiss to the side of his neck. "John…" he feigned a gasp while grinning widely. "….already."

John turned to glare over his shoulder, trying his hardest to frown. "Don't even try it you sod, I wasn't even thinking…."

"Weren't you?" Sherlock continued to smirk, his brow raised disbelievingly.

John narrowed his gaze at him, smiled a little and leaned closer to Sherlock's lips.

Only to pull back and leap out of the bed. Sherlock wasn't the only one who liked to screw with his flatmates libido, John laughed to himself as he marched across to the bathroom. He arse on full display much to Sherlock's delight.

When John exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel it was to find Sherlock up and dressed. He raised at questioning brow to his _'friend'_. "Going somewhere?"

"Lestrade text. Apparently the local constabulary wish to talk to me." Sherlock said with a groan.

"What me to come?"

Sherlock gave a small smirk that resulted in a glare from John. "No, it's shouldn't take long. I'll just give my statement and leave Lestrade to deal with the moronic questions." He informed as he shrugged into his over coat and headed to the door.

"Sherlock. Be nice. - well, polite at least."

Sherlock didn't kiss him a goodbye and John was alright with that. There was no way he was going to let them turn into one of those lovey dovey touchy feely gay couples. They were just John and Sherlock; friends, colleagues and flatmates. The Consulting detective and the blogger, who just happened to be in a relationship.

John was about to head to the bed when he realised he hadn't hurt the door close, looking over his shoulder he found Sherlock stood on the threshold staring at him. John smirked. "Waiting for something?"

"Huh." Sherlock grunted before strolling back into the room and locking his lips against John's, before finally walking confidently out, leaving John with a girly smirk plastered to his lips.

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock pulled the door closed with a silent sigh and caught the wide eyed stare of Lestrade. A blush staining his cheeks as his gaped at the detective. Sherlock fought the urge to laugh. He walked past the inspector, fastening his jacket as he went.

"Morning Lestrade. How are we today. - Sleep well."

"Huh. Yeah." he stammered as he pulled the door to his room closed, his gaze wracking over the detective. There'd been speculation about John and Sherlock but Greg hadn't really believed any of it. In the five years he'd known Sherlock he'd come to the conclusion that the man didn't do sex. He'd never seen him even show an interest in a man or woman unless it was to gain information on a case. And while he'd seen an instant connection with John, he'd assumed it was just friendship. How wrong he was.

He wasn't sure what he was more shocked at? That the speculation had been confirmed via very thin walls? That John was apparently gay? Or that he'd ever doubted any of it? There was one thing he did know. He wasn't going to look John in the eye for a while.

He heard Sherlock chuckle as he passed and Greg felt his cheeks heat.

"Shell we?"

"Huh, yeah." Greg nodded following silently after the slim detective. His gaze noticing a deep red mark on the mans neck.

Sherlock noticed the man staring as they exited the pub and pulled his collar in that _'cool' _way John had mentioned in an attempt to cover the love-bite his _'friend'_ had left there last night. "We'll take your car." Sherlock stated.

"Ok."

~ **SHERLOCK **~

Sherlock was only able to be polite to the local idiots for fifteen minutes until he'd started insulting their intelligence, which they made so very easy. Five seconds after calling the local sergeant a buffoon with the IQ of a coral reef, Sherlock had marched out of the small police station, leaving Lestrade to make his apologies.

It took him five minutes to make it back to the Cross Keys where he found John standing at the bar exchanging money.

"What took you so long?" the doctor asked glancing down at his watch. "Twenty minutes? Your losing your touch."

"Meaning?" Sherlock frowned.

John laughed. "Meaning, I expected you to have insulted the whole station and been back after just ten."

Sherlock smiled widely. "I would have but my doctor told me to be polite and only a fool ignore with his doctor."

John shook his head. "Want any breakfast?" he asked as Gary stood waiting on the other side of the bar.

"No. I'm just popping to the toilet."

"Alright. I'll be out side."

A moment or so later Sherlock exited the pub with two cups of coffee in hand. He walked over to the picnic table John as sat at as Billy placed his breakfast in front of him. He gave the man a small smile. He handed over the cup of coffee as the chief walked away. "So they didn't have it put down then? The dog."

"Obviously. I guess they just couldn't bring themselves to do it." John replied ripping a knife through his eggs and tomatoes.

"I see."

John smiled. "No, you don't."

"No, I don't. - Sentiment?"

"Sentiment." John nodded grinning.

John chewed his food as Sherlock took a seat next to him. As he swallowed his food he decided to broach the subject that had been bugging him all morning…at least for the past half hour. "Listen, what happened to me in the lab?"

Sherlock looked guiltily away. "You want some sauce with that?"

"I hadn't been to the hollow, how comes I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said."

Sherlock kept his head down like a naughty child, riffling through the condiments. "You must have been dosed elsewhere. When you went to the lab maybe. You saw those pipes, leaky as a sieve. And they were carrying the gas…so…" He pulling out two sachets. "…um, ketchup was it, or brown."

John stopped ripping at his food and turned. "Hang on. You thought it was in the sugar. You were convinced it was in the sugar."

Sherlock looked at his watch. "Better get going, actually. There's a train that leaves in half hour, so if you want…"

John sighed as understanding hit him. His head hanging forward and shaking for a few moments. "Oh, god. It was you…." his gaze snapped around to fix his irritated gaze on Sherlock's. "… you locked me in that bloody lab."

"I had too…" the detective sighed. "It was an experiment."

"An experiment?" John snapped loadly.

"Shh."

"I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death."

"I thought the drug was in the sugar so I put the sugar in your coffee…" he explained in a hushed tone trying not to draw any attention. "…then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore. It was all totally scientific. Laboratory conditions. Well, literarily." Sherlock smiled.

John took his frustration out on his breakfast. Typical Sherlock. He didn't know why he was surprised. Actually, he wasn't surprised. He was always the man's crash test dummy. Though on the bright side, in a way it hadn't turned out all that bad. They'd solved the case, John had finally dealt with months for built up frustration and Sherlock had finally gotten a taste of what being human meant. All in all, not a bad nights work.

"I knew what effected it had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one."

John's folk froze half way to his mouth and he hope Sherlock could read his mind, cause right now he was think the arrogant bastard was getting another shag this side of Christmas.

"You know what I mean." Sherlock sighed.

"But it wasn't in the sugar." John said around his breakfast, really feeling the needed to rub it in.

"No, well I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas." Sherlock said defensively.

"So you were wrong."

"No."

"You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You were wrong." John insisted, enjoying himself a little too much.

Sherlock shifted in his seat and murmured into his coffee. "A bit. Won't happen again."

The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a while before John's mind suddenly sparked up.

"Any long term effects?"

"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will"

John smirked down at his plate. "Think I might have taken care of that already."

Sherlock laughed as the memories of last nights activities filtered through his mind. He watched John for a few seconds and felt a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight. There was no way he was going to lose John now, if it meant fighting tooth and nail, John Watson was his forever. - And god save any who tried to separate them.

Sherlock's attention was captured by Gary and he got to his feet.

"Where you going?" John asked looking up at him.

"Won't be a minute. Going to see a man about a dog."

John smiled as he watched Sherlock walk away. A warmth spreading though his whole body at the sight of the confidence detective. John sighed to himslef as he accepted the fact that him and Sherlock weren't just a couple, they were together. Completely, thought thick and thin, good and bad and the only thing that was going to part them was death. John shook his head at how completely wussy he suddenly found himself sounding. But he didn't really care cause his life had never been so good.

As he finished his breakfast alone, he found himself humming _'It Started With A Kiss'_ and laughed.

**THE END**

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><p><strong>AN: Okay that's it folks. How was it for you? Now try watching Reichenbach Fall's and not noticing the strange little possessive/protective turn John seems to have taken. rofl. **

**Few things before I leave you. **

**1) The whole conversation outside the Cross Keys for those who don't know was taken from the episode. I just added the thoughts and feelings to fit the plot. I needed that last conversation because I'd always planned to use…**

"_Any long term effects?"_

"_None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will"_

"_Think I might have taken care of that already." _

**As this is one of those moment's my slash-brain took over and made it possible for me to write this follow-up at all. (Thank you slash-brain, what would I do without you)**

**2) As I've said, I don't like ending on a cliché, sick-bucket moment so I tend to find a funny line to end with. The John humming 'It Started With A Kiss' came to me last night in bed and I once again found myself laughing. For those who don't know 'It Started With A Kiss' is a song by 70's disco band Hot Chocolate, who coincidently used to live next door to my mum family back in the day. (though that's obviously not why I choice the song.) **

**3) The use of **_'being human' _**was not done as a purposeful in-joke. I didn't even realise I'd said it until after I'd written it. Being Human is a BBC Three show staring Russell Tovey, who guest stared in this episode as Henry Knight. He strangle plays werewolf George. I don't watch Being Human but my sister in law does, so I know of it. And I have to admit it was a little hard at points, I found myself trying not to laugh at the irony. (at least I think its irony?) **

**4) and finally… I'd like to apologies to anyone who was waiting for a I LOVE YOU. Sorry, don't do I love you's. I always work on actions speaking loader than words. And those three words have kinda lost their meaning now as there always used, even by people who clear don't love each other. John and Sherlock's love for each other is show by what their willing to do for one another and how they've changed for one another. And if going from straight to gay and giving up your virginity (if Sherlock was a virgin, which we're pretty sure he is) isn't a proof of love, I don't know what is. **

**Well as always I'd like to thank you all for taking the time to read and review. I've really enjoyed reading them and they actually kept me focused so THANK YOU. Also a huge hug to everyone who's faved this story, I'm totally honoured. **

**So. There you have it the end of another Sherlock story. I don't know what else to say but that you've all been wonderfully supportive and I hope that your check out my other work. (not saying you have to of course rofl) **

**See ya next time and don't forget "Stay Calm and Believe In Sherlock"**

**Cyber-hugs to you all**

**GATERGIRL79 signing off. **

**(looks around) now what do I do? **


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